


Into the Void

by thewayshedreamed



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas, MAAS Sarah J. - Works
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Feysand angst, Prompt Fill, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:35:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27001330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewayshedreamed/pseuds/thewayshedreamed
Summary: Written to full prompt-- “Life or death kiss” prompt for FeysandThis is set in canon during acomaf— They’ve already visited the Summer Court, they’ve met with the mortal queens, and they’ve performed their little charade for the Court of Nightmares in order to attain the orb. This happens prior to Rhysand being tracked by his magic and being attacked with ash arrows.
Relationships: Feyre Archeron/Rhysand, Feysand - Relationship
Comments: 4
Kudos: 56





	Into the Void

The High Lord of Night was visiting the Velaris library, attempting to give Clotho and the other priestesses his undivided attention to see how he could further improve their accommodations. He tried to meet with them once a month, or every other month, depending on the amount of politicking his rank required of him during that interval of time.

They insisted they were well taken care of, but he felt compelled to continue improving their conditions considering the horrifying pasts they had all survived. His mind always wandered to the women of Illyria and the changes that needed to be made there as well, but he forced his attention back to the priestesses in this moment. Illyrian reform had no place in the meeting, nor would it be long enough in the slightest to address all of the issues at hand.

“I trust that you all are being honest with me. I only ask that you always be forthcoming in meetings so that I may make any changes at all that you may need. You’re safe here in the library, but my hope is that you are comfortable as well. This is your home. No feedback is too small,” he assured them.

He locked eyes with Clotho and extended his powers, gently knocking on her mental shields to allow him access. He’d unintentionally exposed his powers to her many months ago during a disagreement with Mor, forgetting altogether that Clotho was only a couple of shelves over from them. The alarm that wracked through her had assaulted his mental shields as a result, and it had taken him a significant amount of time to ease her fears.

He had trained her extensively on how to defend her mind from any Daemati after that, and as a result, they had started using the mental bridge to communicate with one another. Since having her tongue cut out by the cruel males of her particular past, Rhysand had become her only communicative partner that didn’t rely on gestures or swift handwriting on scratch paper. She’d confided in him that she looked forward to their meetings, not for any other reason beyond being able to fluidly communicate with another being. She’d grown shy at the time due to her casual nature in the presence of her High Lord, but he’d assured her that he had no intentions of refusing a friend. He’d never had to ask her to keep his secret; she insisting vehemently that she would never out him.

 _“You would tell me if you’d heard anything to the contrary, right?_ ” he asked her, mind to mind.

 _“Of course, High Lord, but they are very happy here. If I knew something to further improve things, I would share it, but everyone has been content,_ ” she replied.

_“Clotho, we’ve talked about this. Call me Rhys. Please.”_

“ _As you wish, High Lord Rhys,”_ she joked.

He fought a good-natured eye roll at her cheekiness, turning his attention to a discussion between two of the priestesses as the meeting drew to a close. He let them talk, content to be a fly on the wall. The alternative was them halting all talks if he participated, growing immediately intimidated under his attention.

A blast of rolling embers barreled against his mental shields— Cassian. He felt himself grow mildly irritated considering he’d briefed the Inner Circle of his whereabouts, but the second wave of power gave him pause. Cassian wasn’t forgetful by nature, so it was possible that it was time sensitive information.

_“Yes, General Commander?”_

He extended his power back to Cassian in anticipation of his response.

_“Rhys. I think you should return to the House of Wind.”_

_“Im at the library with the priestesses, Cassian. What is it?”_

_“It’s Feyre. She was attacked at the Rainbow.”_

Rhys slammed down his mental shield, not trusting his rage if he were to know any more. He schooled his face into a mask of the calm and collected High Lord as he stood.

“Ladies, if you’ll excuse me. I’ve lost track of time and am needed at another meeting. It’s been a pleasure,” he announced.

He walked briskly out of the room and winnowed immediately upon shutting the door.

——

“What the _fuck_ happened?” Rhysand demanded upon winnowing into the House of Wind.

Cassian, Azriel, and Mor were all there waiting.

“Unclear as of now, but I have eyes everywhere in search of a culprit or motive,” Azriel replied calmly.

“Several soldiers are on standby. I’ll deliver the order as soon as we know if you wish it,” Cassian supplied.

“Rhys,” Mor interjected softly, “Madja gave us an update just prior to your arrival. She was struck with an ash dagger through the chest, and it has splintered throughout her chest cavity. She’s in dire shape, but Madja and her team are working as quickly as possible to remove the shards and heal her.”

Rhysand felt his knees threaten to buckle and eased himself into the plush armchair next to him. He rested his elbows on his knees as he cradled his forehead in the palms of his hands. He raked his fingers through his jet black hair before rubbing roughly at his face, feeling so angry that he was numb. Unsure of what to do with his hands, he clasped them together in front of him.

Azriel rested a scarred hand on one of his shoulders, but Rhys couldn’t bear to look at him. Or anyone else for that matter. He knew that would be all it took to shatter his resolve as he tried his best to fight his roiling emotions.

Most of all, he was angry with himself. Feyre had just come to Velaris, and he had assured her she would be safe with them. And somehow, within a matter of weeks, she’d sustained a near-fatal attack. He’d been none the wiser to the threat, and to top it all off, he hadn’t been there to help.

 _“Another failure for the High Lord of the Night Court,_ ” he thought to himself.

“I need to see her,” he said to no one in particular.

“I know,” Mor sympathized, “but Madja demanded that they go undisturbed until she delivers an update.”

“So I’m supposed to sit here and hope for the best?” he snarled.

Mor walked over to where he sat and kneeled before him. She covered his hands with her own and peered into his violet eyes with her brown.

“Yes,” was all she said in return.

——

After what felt like an eternity, Madja emerged to deliver an update to the four of them. Feyre had been gravely injured, this much they knew already, but Madja felt strongly that they had done as much as they could to give her the best odds of survival.

“Now, it’s up to her body,” she finished.

Rhysand emitted a small nod, his eyes locked into a vacant stare on the carpet.

“Thank you, Madja,” he offered robotically.

“You may see her if you wish,” she offered before she left, understanding laced into her tone.

At her words, Rhys winnowed immediately to Feyre’s room, not wanting to waste any time with walking. He released the damper on his powers slightly, covering the room in a calm, soothing darkness. The only light was that of the stars that danced all around them.

He walked to her bedside, his stomach knotting ten times over. He quietly summoned a chair to her bedside, eased himself into it, and took her hand. She was a couple of degrees too cold, and he refused to entertain thoughts of what it could mean. There was mild comfort in the rise and fall of her chest, but it was minimal compared to the other emotions he felt.

He clasped his other hand on top of hers, dwarfing it between his much larger ones. He huffed a tiny laugh at how small she seemed, considering the power that flowed through her at any given moment. She was a force all her own, and it gutted him to see her this way.

“Feyre,” he whispered, knowing she wouldn’t answer. He continued on anyway.

“Darling, you have to wake up,” he began, tears brimming far sooner than he expected. “You were coming along beautifully in your training, and Cassian will expect to have you see it through. Plus, his ego and guilt will threaten to eat him alive since he wasn’t with you when…” he trailed off, unable to complete the sentence and effectively ruining his attempt at humor.

“Azriel isn’t one to admit such things, but I know he’s quite fond of you already. I think you two understand each other on a level I can’t. He’ll want you to stay with us, Feyre.”

He lifted his hand from atop hers, wiping his face of the tears that were streaming readily now. He wiped his hand on the blanket before he returned it to hers, heating it slightly in a gesture of comfort. The act sent another bolt of pain through him, reminding him of their charade in the Court of Nightmares.

“I know you know already that Mor adores you. That woman is truth through and through,” he joked fondly.

“And Darling, I have so much I’ve yet to tell you. I need you to come back to me. Losing you again… I don’t think I could bear it. I don’t know if you can hear any of this, but it’s true. I need you,” he said through his tears, sniffling pathetically once he finished.

“I don’t think I could look at your sisters and tell them of your loss. Elain strikes me as someone so gentle that the news would cleave her in two, and quite frankly, Nesta is terrifying. I would be fortunate to leave that conversation with all of my body parts.”

He huffed another small laugh, realizing that even in this state, he couldn’t resist trying to lighten her mood or make her laugh. Regardless, he knew he was throwing that humor into the void even if he couldn’t stop himself. The thought alone made him sick to his stomach. His tears started to stream in earnest now.

“Feyre Darling,” he began again, pulling as hard as he could on the tether that was ever so faint between the two of them, “please. I need you to wake up so that I can tell you that I love you. I love you, and you’re my mate. I knew it after your trials Under the Mountain, and I refused to put that pressure on you after all you’d been through.” He squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth to stifle the sob that threaten to tear through him. “Do you know how stupid that seems now? Now that I risk losing you a second time without you knowing how much I care for you? How much you have completely and irrevocably changed everything in my life? Please, Feyre. I love you.”

He lay his head on the blanket, face down, as he allowed himself to feel everything that he’d suppressed since he’d heard of the attack. He allowed himself to cry openly, to grieve the potential loss of his mate. He started to berate his decision-making, but decided he was in too much pain, too exhausted for self-criticisms.

He caressed the back of her hand and her wrist with his thumbs, willing her back to him in any way he could. He lifted his head to place a chaste kiss to the underside of her wrist, hoping to feel the steady rhythm of her heartbeat as reassurance. Tears landed on her skin, and he wiped them away. Occasionally, he murmured to her how much he loved her, unable to stop now that he had admitted it out loud.

“My strong, beautiful mate. I hope you know how much I adore you,” he whispered against her skin. “I’ve been waiting for you for five centuries, and I cannot make peace with this.”

After several minutes, he leaned back to look at her face, wishing with all he had that he could crawl in next to her and pull her to his chest. Several more agonizing moments passed before he closed his eyes to wipe the tears away. Upon opening them, he had to do a double take to make sure his imagination wasn’t getting the better of him.

Feyre’s eyes were fluttering open, scanning his face in the low light he had created. She only managed to keep them open slightly, but Rhysand’s heart beat against his ribs all the same. The smallest of smiles quirked up at the corner of her mouth as she spoke, her voice rough from the effort.

“Poor baby High Lord,” she teased quietly. It was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.

Before he could think any better of it, he was launching himself from the chair. He gently took her face in his hands as he perched on the edge of the bed, his thumbs brushing her cheekbones. Once he convinced himself that she wasn’t a hallucination, he lowered his mouth to hers, pouring every ounce of love he’d previously admitted into the tender gesture. It wasn’t a claiming; it was everything he’d never told her but needed her to know.

Her lips drew up in a weak smile before promptly returning the kiss, albeit weakly. His heart threatened to beat straight out of his chest at the realization. He pulled back only long enough to brush his nose down the bridge of her own and change their angle. The kiss was wet due to his tears and under less than ideal circumstances, but it was the single best moment of his immortal life.

He forced himself to pull away from her to allow her to catch her breath, but he could only bear moving away from her by inches. He smiled broadly at her in the starlight, drunk on the relief that coursed through him.

“Thank the Mother you’re awake,” he murmured as he brushed her hair away from her face.

“Can we try that again when I’ve recovered? I think I could do better,” she asked.

Rhys threw his head back as he laughed, grateful to see evidence of the Feyre he knew. His Feyre.

“I’ll kiss you whenever you want, Feyre Darling,” he assured her.

“Good,” she replied, a satisfied smile gracing her beautiful face.

“I love you,” he whispered. The words spilled out of him without his consent, but he refused to regret it. He needed her to know what she meant to him.

She turned toward his hand still in her hair, resting her cheek against it.

“I love you too, Rhys,” she murmured before she drifted back to sleep.

Rhysand regained his position in the chair, still gripping her hand like a lifeline. Feyre had a long road ahead of her in recovery, but they would get through it all.

Together.


End file.
